


Care

by supernaturallylost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:59:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3828136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernaturallylost/pseuds/supernaturallylost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is sick, and it's not something he can just magic away. Together, Sam and Dean take care of him. Eventually, however, Sam discovers what might be the cause of Cas's worsening illness. Now it's just up to Dean and whether he can solve the problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Illness

Dean leaned overhead as Cas nodded. Cas’s hands clenched at his sides as he sweated through the sheet. With an air of victory, Dean straightened up and put his hands to his hips. Sam took a step back, away from the frustrated glare his brother was throwing at him.

“See!” Dean gestured with a loud whisper. “He says he’s getting worse!”

Sam shook his head.

“That’s not necessarily true. Some illnesses are like that,” he explained quietly. “They get a little worse before they get better; it just means that his body is fighting back.”

“Sam, this is not like that,” Dean answered. He pointed to Cas’ wound; they had just undone the bandage over his forearm. “Is that supposed to be green?”

With his shoulders falling, Sam conceded.

“We can’t move him,” Sam whispered, glancing down at Cas concernedly. “We can’t bring in a doctor, either. We can’t trust anyone right now, and we shouldn’t invite just anyone to the bunker.”

“Spells, deals, anything!” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Maybe. I’ll do some research. Can you watch over him and make sure it doesn’t get any worse?”

With furious nodding, Dean pushed on Sam’s shoulder to get him moving. Sam backed away easily and left the room. Cas, meanwhile, began to cough. Immediately, Dean rushed for a bowl and a cool, wet washcloth from the container of ice on the dresser.

“Sh sh sh,” Dean muttered lowly. Swiftly, Dean knelt down beside the right side of the bed where Castiel was resting. He pressed the cloth along Cas’s red neck and pale cheeks. “It’s okay, Cas. You’re gonna be fine.”

Cas smiled weakly.

“I know,” he said hoarsely.

Slowly, his fingers edged out of the sheet and toward the bowl. When Dean noticed, he leaned back and pulled the bowl upward. Castiel needed help to pull his head off of the pillow, but when his head was lifted, Dean was able to grab onto his shoulder and roll him onto his side. With furrowed brows, Dean held the bowl up to Cas’s mouth with one hand and pressed the cool towel to the back of his neck.

“False alarm,” Cas whispered when he closed his eyes. Cas tried to roll over right after, but Dean held him in place.

“Wait a minute to make sure,” he said gently. His thumb moved off of the towel and onto the scruffy hair on the back of Cas’ neck. With his thumb, he massaged Cas until Cas’s eyes opened again. “How do you feel now?”

As if on cue, Cas began to convulse. His back began to spasm, his muscles began to tense, and his eyes began to squint as he felt the acidic burn of bile rising upward into his mouth. As he retched, Dean pressed the cool cloth repeatedly to the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, Cas,” Dean whispered. “You’re alright.”

Cas whimpered, finally able to breathe properly and rest his head back against the pillow. In response, Dean bit his lip and sat back on his ankles.

“It’s alright. We’ll find something that will help. We’ll take care of you, Cas.”

Cas closed his eyes, tried to nod, and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

“Dean,” Sam waved from the doorway.

After making sure Cas was still asleep, Dean stood from his seat on the floor and stepped silently toward his brother. He stood sideways so he could keep an anxious eye on Cas while still speaking with Sam.

“You found something?” Dean whispered intensely. His hair was ruffled and out of place, and his lips were red and chapped from being abused by his own worried teeth.

“I think so,” Sam nodded. “I need you to take a look at it. Cas is most comfortable with you, so I think it would help him feel more at ease with it if you were the one to do it.”

“Do what? Is it a spell?”

Sam shook his head and then nodded toward the hallway.

“You go look at it. I’ll watch Cas.”

Dean hesitated, but eventually put a hand on Sam’s shoulder as if to transfer the responsibility of Cas. With a grim nod, he left.

Sam stood indecisively for a moment. He looked at the area on the ground where Dean had been kneeling. With an affectionate shake of his head, he walked to the other side of the room to grab a chair. It lifted easily in his grip, and Sam hauled it over beside Cas on the bed. When he’d finally sat down and crossed his legs, Cas’s eyes flicked open.

“Sam?” he whispered. His voice was heavy and hot and completely infused with sickness. “Where’s Dean?”

Sam smiled and leaned forward, uncrossing his legs and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Dean’s looking at a possible solution right now,” Sam answered quietly. “Don’t worry, Cas; we’ll help take care of this as soon as we can.”

“Is this,” Cas wheezed, “a common ailment?”

“In humans, you mean? I suppose, yeah. Sometimes people aren’t paying attention and their cuts get infected. It’s less common in more developed areas, but there are plenty of places where there just isn’t access to the antibiotics needed.”

Cas just hummed disapprovingly.

“It’s alright, Cas. We’re going to get you back to health soon.”

Suddenly, they heard a dull, echoing crash from a far room. Then a throaty curse followed. As if nothing had happened, Sam cleared his throat, grabbed a cool cloth, and washed Cas’s hands and collarbone.

“Tell me about your wings,” Sam said as a distraction. Cas was glancing to the door and back, waiting for an explanation of the loud noises they kept hearing. “They have a real form, don’t they? They aren’t just ethereal?”

After failing his attempt to shake his head, Cas said, “They have a physical form as well.”

Another series of shouts and curses and crashes interrupted him, but Sam still indifferently pressed the cloth against Cas’s wrists and shoulders, sure to avoid contact with the infected wound.

“My true form,” Cas explained quietly while sneaking glances to the door, “is limitless, and when my wings are ‘ethereal’, they too are limitless.”

He paused his explanation and winced when Sam accidentally pressed too hard on his swollen neck.

“In their physical form, their appearance varies based on several factors. This body was originally just a vessel, so the wings would have been however he imagined them. Most often, humans imagine wings as bright white and feathery. After Jimmy Novak died and I was returned to existence, this body became fused with my true form. The two are still separable, but this body is now as much my true self as the other.”

Sam nodded, grabbed a new washcloth, pressed that cloth to Cas’s forehead, and furrowed his brow.

“So this is really you?” Sam asked. “What happens if your body dies?”

“I don’t know,” Cas sighed hazily. He felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier. “My identity crisis when I first lost my grace led to the conclusion that I am wherever and whoever I am. This is me, here, now. Whatever comes next will come whether I want it to or not.”

“So your wings,” Sam reminded Cas. “Since Jimmy died, what do they look like now? Not white and feathery, I take it?”

Cas shook his head weakly, his eyelids drooping in a final warning before sleep would overcome.

“When my vessel died, my wings would have become whatever shape, size, and color best suited my emotions. At times, they may have been russet brown, jet black, ivory white, or any number of colors in between. I have heard of several colored wings, with feathers every color of the rainbow. It is possible that my wings would look similar.”

“You don’t know?” Sam asked. His voice sounded muffled to Cas, who felt as if everything was moving away from him down a long dark tunnel.

“I don’t,” Cas answered. “Once I get better, I will check.”

“Can I see them?”

Sam had stopped cleaning Cas minutes ago, and the crashing had halted as well. Now there were footsteps coming into the room just as Cas tilted his chin forward in a nod. Then, he felt himself fall into a deep sleep.

 

“There is no way we’re doing that,” Dean said firmly. He leered at Sam angrily.

“Did you see him get cut like that?” Sam persisted. He lifted an old leather bound book to Dean’s face. “Did you actually see when he got that cut on his forearm?”

Dean refused to answer as he steamed.

“This journal was written by Thomas Sanderson, Dean. A man of letters wrote in here what we might be dealing with.”

“How would he know?” Dean squinted with frustration. He waved a hand dismissively. “The angels never contacted him.”

“Dean,” Sam said simply. The way he said it meant two things: one, that Dean was being purposefully obtuse and annoying; two, that Dean needed to pay attention to what Sam was about to say. “The wound is a manifestation of an angelic sickness. Sanderson writes about how these marks appeared suddenly on a test subject, with no reason for them physically. Dean, we both know Cas could heal himself if this was any old illness. It’s not an infected cut on his arm. This is deeper. This is spiritual.”

“And what do you want me to do?” Dean responded angrily. He looked inside Cas’s room from the doorway. He was sleeping soundly, thanks to Sam’s enchanted ministrations. “I am not doing what it says in that book.”

Sam rolled his eyes and set the book down on a table in the hallway. Then he put his hands on his hips.

“You’re being childish, Dean. Open your eyes and you’ll see that this is what makes sense. Cas is sick. He misses his wings so much that he’s deliberately ignoring the fact that they are completely broken.”

“I can’t fix his wings, and I’m sure as hell not going to cut them off!” Dean yelled.

As he breathed heavily, Cas grunted in his sleep. Sam took a steadying breath and waited for Dean to look slightly less murderous before continuing.

“You don’t have to cut off his wings, Dean. Did you read the next page?”

Dean grumbled and snatched the book from the table.

“Yes, I read it. Why do you think I have to go buy new plates later?”

“Because you lost your temper after reading one of the proposed solutions while skimming over the other five,” Sam answered patiently. “You worried Cas with all of that noise, by the way.”

Sam waited and stared pointedly while Dean flipped to the proper page in the journal.

“I’m not doing this one,” Dean said, flipping the page. “I’m not hurting Cas.”

Sam nodded, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and tapped his foot. Finally, Dean’s eyes widened and his ears reddened in a way they hadn’t for a long time. Embarrassed, Dean set the book back down and bit his lip.

“That’s the one you meant,” Dean said quietly. He glanced again at Cas.

“We’re taking care of him now, Dean,” Sam nodded. “He’s our best friend, and we don’t get a lot of those in our line of work.”

Dean’s mind raced.

“His wings?” Dean asked suddenly. “You’re sure that’s where the sickness is?”

“I’m hoping. From what he said, I gather he can make them physical so you can look at them without having your eyes burned out.” Sam waited until Dean nodded before adding, “He said hasn’t seen them since Jimmy was alive.”

“Are you sure about this?” Dean whispered, now turning to look exclusively at Cas. Cas was breathing deeply for the first time in days.

“It’s up to you,” Sam answered. “I mean, you two are a lot closer than he and I are. I think he’d prefer it to be you.”

Dean nodded vaguely.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean smiled softly. Cas looked up at him groggily. “How’re you doing?”

Instead of answering, Cas coughed for an entire minute. Afterward, he took an especially deep breath of air.

“So pretty good, then?” Dean nodded sarcastically.

Cas smiled back, but his eyes were suspicious. As always, he held Dean’s gaze with an intensity that seemed to bore into Dean’s soul. Using all of his willpower, Dean managed to maintain eye contact as he sat in the chair beside the bed.

“Cas,” Dean said, reaching out to place a hand over Cas’s, “we think we know what’s happening to you.”

Relief washed over Cas’s face, and he dared to ask, “Do you know how to fix it?”

Dean smiled softly, nodded, and took a deep breath.

“It’s a two part problem,” Dean explained. “We think the root of it is your wings. I know you’re tired, Cas, but the only way we can help heal your wings is if you manifest them for us.”

Cas’s brow furrowed. He became suddenly aware of an itch on his elbow, which gave him the perfect excuse to look away from Dean’s too understanding gaze.

“I know it’s a lot,” Dean spoke softly. “Your wings are broken, Cas, and we can’t fix them if you won’t let us.”

“What’s the second part?” Cas asked as he scratched his arm. “What’s the second part of the problem?”

Dean took another deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He crossed his arms for something to do. Finally, he managed to speak again.

“Sam thinks you’re hurting,” Dean struggled to say. Quickly he added, “Emotionally, I mean.”

Cas looked back at Dean. Cas’s forehead was sweaty and wrinkled with confusion, but his eyes held something innocently intimate.

“Usually Sam would do the talking things,” Dean laughed pathetically. “I’m not really as well practiced as he is, and I’m not sure if I can do his typical long winded speeches. Honestly, Sam would probably be a lot better at this than me, but, if you’d like, I’ll listen to anything you want to say.”

Castiel couldn’t contain the coughing that interrupted Dean. His ribs ached from the pressure and he looked as if he was going to fall apart at the seams.

“Cas,” Dean whispered urgently, “we can try a ritual to cleanse your spirit while I try healing your wings. We can burn lavender to help calm you. Sam has stones from the north, south, east, and west United States. If we rest them down your spine, they’ll help to ground you so you can concentrate. We can find out what’s doing this to you.”

Cas sucked in one very deep breath. Then, he nodded, propped himself up on his elbows weakly, and cleared his throat.

“Will it work?” Cas asked.

The way his blue eyes stared into Dean’s made Dean feel like anything short of the entire truth would be like a kick to the groin.

“I don’t know,” Dean answered, “but we have to try something, if you’ll let us.”

“Where’s Sam?” Cas asked. His voice was thick and raspy from his sore throat.

Dean subconsciously rubbed his thumb over Cas’s arm.

“He thought you’d be more comfortable with me. He was going to go out there and keep researching in case this doesn’t work.” Dean looked down. “Do you want me to go get him instead?”

“No,” Cas answered quickly. The swiftness of the response, however, meant that too much air was released from his lungs too soon, and it led to another extreme round of coughing. Afterward, Cas added, “Let’s leave him to research just in case.”


	2. Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to cure Castiel's illness.

With a lot of tactful, delicate maneuvering, Dean helped Cas to sit up on the bed. Although at first he was standing, Dean slowly leaned forward until he was kneeling just behind Cas on the bed. Cas was panting shallowly through the mouth, his forehead was clammy and creased, and his face was flushed. Impulsively, Dean pulled Cas’s shirt collar away from his throat to help him breathe deeper.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean said softly. Castiel closed his eyes, breathed calmingly, and concentrated on Dean’s voice. “You have lay on your stomach. First, you’re going to have to take off the shirt.”

Cas’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily before his eyes opened and he nodded. Slowly, his shaking fingers grasped the bottom edges of his shirt. As he lifted it upward, Dean helped raise the fabric from behind. Eventually, Cas gave up helping and let Dean pull his shirt off on his own. Dean tried not to think much of it when his fingertips gently held Cas’s arm out to pull off the shirt sleeve. Then the wet fabric scratched against Cas’s angular shoulder blades, caught under Cas’s chin, and ruffled Cas’s hair so that it was standing up straight.

Eventually, Cas sucked in a deep breath and let his head fall forward softly. All along his back, he could feel goose bumps from the chill air hitting against his sweaty skin. Dean’s eyes scanned Cas’s skin where it was blotchy and red. Softly, Dean moved off of his seat behind Cas so that he was standing against the bedframe.

“Are you ready to lay on your stomach, or do you want to drink some water first?” Dean asked. His voice was tense, but his concern outweighed his uncertainty.

Cas coughed quietly while saying the word ‘water’.

“Can you sit here on your own? We need more ice, so I need to go to the kitchen for a minute.”

Cas nodded again, his eyes shut tightly.

“I’ll be fine.”

Dean waited skeptically for a minute before moving slowly out of the room. Once he reached the hallway, he rushed to the kitchen to grab a clean bowl of ice and a fresh glass of water.

“How’s he doing?” Sam asked from the table. He was leaning over three different open books, in three different ancient languages, with three difference styles of artistic illumination. “Has he gotten his wings out yet?”

Dean shook his head, pressed his forehead against the refrigerator door, and took a deep breath.

“I’m going to have him get comfortable before he manifests his wings,” Dean answered quietly. “I get the feeling it’s going to hurt him.”

Sam looked up in time to see Dean let out a shaky breath. Dean’s eyes were closed and his hands were tightly wound around the glass and bowl in his hands.

“Dean,” Sam whispered. “He’s strong enough to do this. He’ll feel so much better afterward. Besides, there is no evidence to say that it will hurt him to do this.”

“Not physically,” Dean agreed. He turned slowly so he was leaning back against the fridge. With worried eyes, he looked at Sam’s typical compassionate expression. “I mean, it might not hurt him physically, but if he hasn’t seen them since Jimmy was alive, I just know it’s going to hurt him to know that they’re different now, and that they’re different because Jimmy’s gone.”

Sam nodded. “You think he’ll feel guilty?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just know how hard this’ll be for him… but I guess I should go back and get started.”

“Don’t forget the lavender,” Sam answered. He passed a bundle of the dried flower over his books. “It will help him relax.”

Dean nodded and walked a few steps away from the table before stopping short.

“How do I talk to him, Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly. He was looking down the hallway anxiously.

With a frown, Sam bit his tongue. Several seconds passed before Dean sighed.

“He’s waiting.” Dean nodded to himself. “I guess it’s time to see if I can help him.”

“When he talks to you,” Sam finally suggested, “make sure you really pay attention to his body language. Cas speaks pretty literally, but you’ll find a lot of what he says is buried in his nonverbal communication. Make sure that if he asks you anything you only tell him the truth. And Dean?”

Sam waited until his brother’s bright green eyes were facing him.

“He already knows,” Sam quietly and pointedly nodded, “but you should probably tell him now.”

While Dean’s eyes squinted and his mouth opened in denial, coughing from the back bedroom interrupted his attempt to argue.

Without another word, Dean turned, bit his lip, and stalked back down the hallway.

 

Cas was lying on his stomach, his head resting on his folded arms just over the foot of the bed, watching the lavender burning on the other end of the room while Dean closed the door, collected the four stones from all cardinal directions of the United States, and rolled up his sleeves.

“Are you ready, Cas?” Dean asked, avoiding Cas’s eyes.

With a weak nod, Cas took a deep breath and concentrated. Awkwardly, Dean tried to find something else to focus on. He should be the first person to see his wings, Dean reasoned. In an attempt to give Cas privacy, Dean checked, double-checked, and triple-checked the burning lavender.

“Dean?”

Cas’s voice sounded so weak, so wounded, that Dean couldn’t adjust his composure. When he turned to face Castiel, Dean’s face was all worried wrinkles and frowning eyes and trembling lips. The fear Dean felt for Cas’s safety increased when he realized Cas’s wings were not yet manifested.

“Dean,” Cas said again.

One of his hands reached forward and was grabbed without hesitation. Dean stepped forward, held Cas’s hand, knelt down at the foot of the bed, and gazed up urgently at Cas.

“What’s wrong?” Dean rushed to say. “Does something hurt?”

Cas shook his head slowly and closed his eyes. His fingers squeezed Dean’s.

Suddenly, Dean’s vision went white. In his mind, every color pulsed faintly. An outline of a person made entirely of color was walking toward him in his mind. The outline had full, strong wings that were white and blue and silver and green, and it had a body with a deep blue core surrounded by swirling yellows and oranges and grays. The feathers shifted in a purple breeze. When the colorful form reached Dean, it knelt in front of him. Dean felt the wings wrap around him. Green, silver, blue, and white embraced him. Then, slowly, the colors faded. Dean’s vision gradually returned. Cas was still laying in front of him with his eyes closed and hands clenched around Dean’s. Dean was still kneeling in front of him, at eye level, now breathing heavily.

Dean blinked multiple times before his mouth fell open.

Cas opened his eyes in time to see Dean turning awe-struck in every direction. Surrounding him were hundreds of feathers; the smaller covert feathers were darker blue near the top and faded into green at their tips while the larger primary and secondary remiges faded from light green-blue to white with metallic silver tips. Cas, too, looked surprised while he gazed at his wings They were outstretched and wrapped behind Dean as if to protect him. Almost immediately, the problem was clear.

“Cas,” Dean finally whispered. His voice held a note of pity that made the covert feathers shift uncomfortably. “I thought the feathers would be out of place, but I never would have thought…”

Now Dean watched Cas’s expression carefully. Cas, meanwhile, pulled his wings away from Dean and allowed them to stretch from one end of the room to the other. They barely fit within the walls.

“Ow,” Cas winced softly.

The wings cast a crooked shadow on the ground with holes where the feathers were missing.

“The bone is broken,” Dean whispered in shock.

Slowly, the wings folded down against Cas and the bed.

After a minute, Dean composed himself again. He jumped up, let go of Cas’s hand, and reached for the four smooth grounding stones.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean nodded. “We can fix this. You’re going to be okay.”

 

The stones were cold and smooth against Cas’s spine. They sat heavily between his shoulder blades, between the base of his wings. Strangely, Cas did feel grounded. He felt safe with Dean’s fingers sliding tenderly over each of his feathers, coating them with mineral oils. He felt warm with Dean sitting beside Cas’s hips wrapping his broken wing to his side with a large, thick sheet.

“How are you feeling, buddy?” Dean asked quietly in case Cas was sleeping.

“Good,” Cas answered. His wings twitched and trembled for a moment, causing Dean to laugh. Sheepishly, Cas whispered, “I got cold for a second.”

“Well, you don’t look as bad as you did an hour ago.” After a minute, Dean swallowed hard and asked, “How does it feel to see your wings again?”

Fingers gently massaged the thin bumpy skin around the bone of Cas’s wings. Cas hummed appreciatively. Already he could feel his face had stopped burning and his throat was less sore. For a moment, he closed his eyes and felt hope.

“They’re mine,” Cas said so quietly that Dean almost didn’t hear him.

“What do you mean?” Dean prompted.

There was a quiver in Cas’s voice when he next spoke, but the scents of lavender and mineral oil helped to keep him calm.

“When Jimmy was alive, I had white, feathery wings, but they weren’t mine. Those were Jimmy’s wings. In heaven, my form is limitless, and my wings are a part of everything, so they don’t belong to me. Yet, right now, these wings are mine. The fracture is mine, the missing pieces are mine, and the feathers are mine.”

Dean smiled and slid a reassuring hand along the hollow bone of Cas’s good wing.

“Why these colors?” Dean asked. “Did you choose them?”

Again, the feathers ruffled and the wings uncurled before resettling.

“I believe these are the colors of my subconscious,” Cas answered. “Blue is the color of my innermost soul. White and silver must be reflections of my mind and heart.”

“And green?”

Dean’s hand rested palm down on the small of Cas’s bare back as he moved over to the other side of the bed to work on the healthy wing. Cas remained silent.

Dean waited for a full minute before he realized Cas didn’t intend to answer. He opened his mouth to tease Castiel, but the unsaid truth suddenly hit him.

“The colors are from your subconscious?” Dean repeated quietly.

He saw Cas’s head move forward in confirmation.

“Cas,” Dean answered. He sat back and his brow furrowed.

The wings shivered again and the rocks slipped down Cas’s ribs.

Very slowly, Dean climbed off of the bed. He reached over and replaced the stones before walking in front of Cas. He sat down at eye level and took a deep breath.

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Cas looked up at Dean intensely. His blue eyes searched the green in front of him.

“Cas,” Dean said. “Something is tearing you apart. I’m guessing it’s been hurting you for a while now. Please let me help you.”

“What am I?” Cas responded quickly. “That’s what is bothering me.”

“Do you mean physically?” Dean’s eyebrow arched and his tilted his head. His hands were clasped in front of him.

“No, Dean. What am I to you?”

Dean blinked.

“I’ve felt your soul at its happiest. I’ve seen the light within you smiling,” Cas said. “Brilliant and green and strong, I’ve seen your soul so full of love it nearly blinded me.”

Dean bit his lip and felt his cheeks grow warm.

“I’ve also seen your soul at its worst,” Cas continued. “I raised your soul from perdition, and I saw how dark and ruined you were. Since then, you’ve been a mixture of colors that I can’t read. I don’t know what you’re thinking, and often I don’t think you know either.”

Dean took a moment before going on a tangent saying, “Was it your soul that I saw earlier?”

Cas looked down and nodded. Patiently, he focused on shifting his wings more comfortably on the bed.

“You were,” Dean began. He tossed several words in his mind before he noticed a tear fall from Cas’s eye. Dean sat back and finished his sentence. “You are important.”

When Cas finally looked up, he saw Dean smile lightly.

“I know I’m not good with words, but here goes nothing. To me, Cas, you are important.” Dean watched Cas’s face carefully as he spoke. “I need you, Cas. I know you’re hurting, and I know I’ve been ignorant.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and his wings lifted to shake with surprise.

“Your feathers,” Dean whispered, “are green.”

Cas waited.

“You love me,” Dean said simply.

Silence pressed down on them both before Dean smiled.

“What are we?” he repeated rhetorically.

Soft, warm fingers brushed Cas’s jawline. Cas closed his eyes and laid his head on Dean’s hand. Slowly, quietly, decisively, Dean leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Cas’s.

“How do I fix this?” Dean whispered. “How do you heal a hurt like this?”

A mix between a whimper and a laugh came from Cas. Then, softly, he answered.

“Care,” he said. “Do you care?”

Dean’s breath ran lightly over Cas’s lips.

“Castiel,” Dean whispered. “I will always love you.”

The kiss began abruptly, and Cas’s eyes widened with surprise. Then, his good wing reached around and blanketed Dean once more, pushing him closer.

 

Two hours passed before Sam looked up and saw Dean walking slowly down the hallway. Leaning heavily on him, a shirtless Cas managed to walk into the kitchen.

“Wow, Cas,” Sam grinned. He jumped out of his seat happily. “You already look so much better!”

“I feel better,” Cas smiled.

“He said,” Dean rolled his eyes, “he had to come out here to fulfill a promise. I told him he should stay in bed and rest, but he said it was important.”

Sam nodded with a serious expression.

“What did you promise?” he asked.

“I promised to let you see my wings,” Cas smiled.

Slowly, the wing that was tucked away relaxed and unfurled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any comments, please leave them for me!


End file.
